


run to you

by queenliest (orphan_account)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/queenliest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are late for work, and the cruelest twist (or maybe not) of fate happens. </p><p> </p><p>  <b> [Calum Hood/Reader] </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	run to you

* * *

It seemed that you were out of luck today. 

After being stuck in a two-hour long traffic just a while ago, your precious car had to overheat and bail out on you. In the middle of an alley, with no person to help you or guide you, no less. 

And so you had spent the past fifteen minutes running. 

You were already running forty-five minutes late for work, and you had thought about hiring another vehicle to drive you there, but the traffic was still going on around; there was no other way for you to get there, and though you weren’t used to running that far, you had to do it. Thoughts were racing in and out of your mind; some of them sounded paranoid and nonsensical, but you couldn’t stop them. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest, though you had no idea if it was from the continuous running you were doing or if it was from the anxiety slowly building up inside you. 

_What if I was suddenly fired from work for being late today?_ You thought. You knew it was possible to happen, but you also knew that your work area—the coffee shop that was at least two kilometres away from you—wasn’t that strict. Still, it was making you feel nervous; the thought was making your heart race even more and you scolded yourself for thinking such a kind of thing. 

_Think positively,_ you thought. _Your manager wouldn’t fire you for being late the first time._

Even though your thoughts were begging to be listened to, you didn’t stop running. Sure, you paid them a little attention, but not once did you ever stop running. 

Well, not until your feet tripped on a small stone and landed on something. 

… Or rather, someone. 

“Ow,” you muttered, opening your eyes—which had instinctually closed during your fall awhile ago—and saw that you had landed on a person—a boy. 

You blushed and scrambled to get away from him as quick as possible. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked. You were currently sitting on the ground, your legs crossed together. 

The boy stirred, opening his eyes and slowly sitting up. 

“Who… are you?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. He looked as though he had just woken up, and it had made you stifle a small giggle. You noticed that the boy was about your age. He was handsome; he had black hair that looked as though it was purposefully ruffled, with strands sticking out from every which way. Tufts of his hair was streaked with blond; it looked good on him; the streaks of his dyed hair had made him look more handsome, had made him look even sexier. 

Okay, you had not just thought of that. 

Anyway, his eyes were the color of the rich earth and chocolate. They were the most beautiful shade of brown you’d ever seen, and it felt like you were drowning in that chocolatey abyss that were his eyes if you stared at them for too long. Your gaze moved down to observe the clothes he was wearing. He wore a black sleeveless shirt with a logo of a band that you didn’t quite recognize. His shirt had a few tears and rips, and you wondered whether the shreds were accidental or if he had purposefully ripped his shirt to make them. He wore a pair of black skinny jeans and a pair of black Vans. He was pulling off his attire so well that it had made you envious and conscious of what you were currently wearing. You were wearing a white shirt with the logo of your favourite band, The Smiths; a pair of wrinkly jeans that you had been consecutively wearing for the past three days; as well as a pair of old Chuck Taylor’s that your mother had bought for you as a gift for your birthday last year. It wasn’t that you were ashamed; you just felt like you looked plainer compared to him. 

“Who are you?” he repeated his question again, and you had realized that you weren’t able to answer him the first time he’d asked. 

“Um,” you began. “I’m **(Your Name)**.” 

He was silent for a while, probably processing the words you had just said. 

“Are you okay?” you asked him, frowning. You were worried for the boy; he was probably hurt after hitting his head on the ground like that. He had shouldered the fall that your clumsiness had caused, and it had made you feel a little guilty inside. 

“Yes,” the boy replied. He was silent for a few moments, just staring at you. 

You frowned, curious as to what the boy was thinking about. 

“Are you okay?” you repeated the question again. 

He smirked and said, “No.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, standing up and dusting your clothes off. You reached out a hand to help him stand up; he took it, standing up and dusting his clothes off as well. 

When you tried to remove your hand from his hold, he refused, his grip tightening even more. 

You had felt the oncoming sense of dread. _What if this man was here to kidnap me?_ You thought. You knew it was silly, knew that the thought was due to just you being too paranoid. 

He must have been able to sense your discomfort, because not a moment later, he had let go of your hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You shook your head. “No, I _am_ sorry.” 

“I’m Calum,” he said, offering his hand for you to shake. 

“ **(Your Name)** ,” you said, shaking his hand. 

A smile slowly made its way toward his lips. “Would you care to go out for a coffee?” 

“I’m already outside.” 

“Oh, shit,” he cursed. He looked alarmed, as though he had just ruined something big. “I’m sorry. I meant, shit. I meant, now?” 

“Now?” you repeated. You had to stifle a giggle at how cute he was acting. 

“Now,” he agreed. 

“But I have work to do…” You trailed off. You began to think. You were already running forty-five minutes late even before you had encountered him; at this time, you were probably an hour or more late for your work. You didn’t want to be fired, of course, but at the same time you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were the reason why this boy—Calum—would (probably, though you weren’t so sure) experience a massive headache later. You owed it to him to at least take him up on his offer for coffee. Besides, you were already running late. (Okay, so you were probably contradicting what you had said a while ago about not running late for work, but at this point, you didn’t give anymore shit.) 

“Oh.” He looked crestfallen. “I guess I should—“ 

“No!” You cut him off. 

“No?” He repeated. He looked confused; he looked as though he was trying to decipher a language that he couldn’t understand and failing it. 

“No,” you said. You let a smile creep its way toward your lips. “I mean no work for me.” 

His crestfallen face had instantly turned happy. He looked like a child who had just gotten his most desired present for Christmas. 

“So,” he began, clearing his throat before speaking once more. “Do you mind if I invite you to join me over for a cup of coffee?” 

Your smile turned into a grin. “Not at all.” 

\- 


End file.
